


We Aren't Kissing the War Goodbye

by QueSeraAwesome



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Reunion, Spoilers for the end of season 12, Wartime, Wartime Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3310727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueSeraAwesome/pseuds/QueSeraAwesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a old famous photo, a sailor kissing a girl, the end of a war. This isn't that story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Aren't Kissing the War Goodbye

Jensen’s not the first off the ship. That honor goes to Dr. Grey, yelling, “Hold him steady! Hold him steady, he can’t take any jostling right now, he’ll jostle his insides outside!”

After her comes Bitters, holding the foot end of the stretcher, carefully stepping down to the ground, Sarge at the other end hissing “Now, you listen, dirty Blue, I’m sure you’ll be forgiven if you renounce your Blue ways before you go, ‘specially with the heroing and all—“ and the rest of his sentence is cut off by Palomo’s wailing.

“Sit down,” the new Freelancer, Agent Carolina, hisses to Jensen’s left, a firm hand on Agent Washington’s shoulder. His butt hits the seat with a growl of frustration.

“I can’t just _sit_ here—“

“Wash, if you don’t have cracked ribs, I will eat my—“

“What is going on here?” Kimball’s voice calls from outside. Jensen does a quick calculation. Bitters, a Fed Doctor, and Captain Tucker on a stretcher, shortly to be joined by Sarge. Kimball looking for answers. She moves.

“We saved everyone! And we beat up the mercs!” Captain Caboose yells from the door of the cockpit, a step behind Sarge.

“Where are Locus and Felix?” Doyle demands, approaching the craft. Jensen recognizes him from the recon vids. “The transmission—“

“We have answers for all of your questions. Most of them, at least,” Agent Carolina says, pushing in front of Jensen, “But for now, we have wounded.”

“You’re not the only ones,” Kimball responds.

Jensen peeks around Agent Carolina, sees the crowd assembling around the transport, the careful mix of Fed and New Republic armor in the crowd. Never one alone, always two or three huddled together, but a mixed crowd and for a moment it makes her dizzy.

“We need a doctor over here!” Kimball hollers.

“Forget a doctor, you got a doctor,” Dr. Grey chirps, “We need a hospital— equipment!”

“Is this really fucking necessary?” Tucker gripes from the stretcher.

“Shut up, sweetie,” Grey snaps. “What is wrong with you people and understanding that knives inside you is bad?”

“I knew that,” Caboose volunteers. “I knew that, I’m smarter than Tucker.”

No one’s paying attention to Jensen. Her Captain fainted a while ago, and she’s pretty sure his boyfriend’s taking a nap in the craft. From the looks of things Agent Carolina’s handling the explanations.

Jensen’s boots hit the ground and she looks up at all those frightened faces, all those hopeful faces, looking to them for answers, Fed and New Republic and that’s when she remembers. She sees the lines of bodies, carefully set in rows, just past the crowd and she remembers, she doesn’t know where Volleyball is.

She frantically scans the faces around her, searching for pink, for the accents that mean her girlfriend made it. Dispassionate visors stare back at her, mostly looking at Agent Carolina, at Kimball, at Doyle, looking for answers, for direction. None of them are looking at her, even as she steps away from the hubbub, into the crowd. They make room, but they don’t look at her. They aren’t Volleyball; Volleyball always looked at her, even when no one else did.

She can’t see Volleyball.

The crowd ripples, making way as a figure barrels through. Doctor Lady Bones rushes through, carrying some sort of medical equipment and Jensen turns away. Lady Bones will handle it. She always does the best she can. Jensen goes up on her tiptoes, searching the crowd, refusing to cast her eyes over the lines of bodies, keeps her eyes on the living.

“Volleyball?” She yells into the crowd. Everyone else has been yelling, why shouldn’t she? “Volleyball? Anjali?”

There’s a squawk from behind her and Jensen snaps her head around, but it’s just Agent Washington. Captain Caboose is bodily lifting him out of the transport, Washington protesting loudly the whole way.

She turns back around and she’s there.

Volleyball’s a full head taller than her, she has mud up to her knees and weariness hanging over her like physical weight around her neck, and she’s the most beautiful person Jensen’s ever seen. Even more beautiful than the first time Jensen saw her, bright-eyed and determined just after they signed up. More beautiful than the first time Volleyball kissed her and pulled back, her smile shy.

Volleyball takes an uncertain step toward her; Jensen goes to her.

“You made it,” Volleyball says. “I couldn’t find you, after.”

Regret blisters in Jensen’s chest, but she can’t think about that now. In the moments during the battle, during the transition, after it a lot of decision had to be made. She’s glad they went to their captains. She’s glad they could help. She’s just sorry Volleyball wasn’t there too.

“Sorry,” Jensen says, her lisp thick in her mouth. It always gets worse when she’s tired. “I had to go.”

Volleyball nods shakily. Jensen can see her hands shaking, uncertain. Her bright, strong girl. The girl who can spike a ball across the quad, hit Palomo in the back of the head and then laugh, head thrown back. She steps forward and they fold into each other, foreheads touching and she can feel her shaking. She’s not sure she’s not shaking herself, the adrenaline settling in poisonously to her body.

“I was so scared,” Volleyball whispers.

It’s more than she can bear. Jensen rips off her helmet, pulls Volleyball down to her.

Except she forgets to take off her helmet first, so her lips hit the cold surface of the visor.

She has approximately two seconds for her face to burn red, for the twittering laughter to start around her, but then Volleyball’s pulling back, she’s shoving a hand under the lip of her helmet and shaking her head out of it, dark hair falling out in a tangle.

Then Volleyball’s lips are on hers, the armored joints of Jensen’s hands are getting caught in the tangles of her hair, her breath is puffing against Jensen’s teeth and it isn’t graceful. It isn’t those classic shots of the lover getting dipped into a kiss after the soldier gets off the boat—for one, they’re both the soldier. Jensen is sweating underneath her armor and she’s exhausted and her sinuses are sore and painful and she and Volleyball lean into each other and kiss, desperate slides and presses of lips. They take each other’s weight, Volleyball’s arms clinging around her and it strikes Katie all at once that they’ve got their helmets off in the middle of a warzone and how patently _stupid_ that is.

That’s when the tears start.

It takes her an absurd amount of time to realize that she’s not actually the one who’s crying, that the tears on her face aren’t hers, but by the time she realizes, it’s too late and she’s crying too. The scattered catcalls that started when they kissed die away and Volleyball bends into her and cries into her neck. Jensen’s tears fall into her hair.

The emotion is dull, far away, moving in a direct line up from her gut and out through her tear ducts. She couldn’t tell you why she’s crying. Not in one sentence.

When they calm down and Jensen looks up, Tucker’s been stabilized and they’re carting him to the medical tents that have been set up down the way. Wash and Carolina are trailing after them at their own pace, arms awkward around each other, like they’re trying to hold each other up without actually touching each other.

“Hey,” Bitters says, walking up to her. “Gotta debrief or something.”

“Yeah,” Jensen says. Volleyball tangles their fingers together. “Okay.”

Volleyball follows her to Kimball. Neither of them let go.


End file.
